I Saw You
by Evilism
Summary: Based on Severitus. In Harry Potter's case, the skeletons in the closet can turn out to be sword-wielding undeads. Which was why Snape tried so hard to keep everything as it was. Lupin plays a small but momentous role. And what does the Mirror of Erise ha
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: None of the following characters belong to me. 

**Rating:** PG

**Title:** I Saw You.

**Summary:** Severitus. Harry Potter is no stranger to skeletons in the closet. But sometimes, these skeletons can turn out to be sword-wielding undeads. And would Snape choose to carry the secret with him to his grave, just as Sirius, Lily, and James had done? Lupin plays a small-but-poignant role here. The lines in **italics **indicate **past**, while **non-italics **are **present**.

***

I Saw You 

          _"You take him! Now!"_

_          "But, what about you? I can't keep it from him. Not for-"_

_          "James shall be his father. And from this moment on, James IS his father. We both know that ours would never work out. Now go!"_

_          "Severus, I'm sorry. I promise that I'll tell him when he-"_

_          "Confound it, just GO!"_

_          Voldemort, along with two masked murderers stormed into the room not too long later, their flaring nostrils sniffing delicately. "I detect the scent of a woman. Severus, do not tell me that there is one," hissed the fallen wizard in a low tone._

_          Snape swallowed nervously, but his facial muscles did not appear contrite the least bit. He was, after all, one of the few living men who prided themselves with the ability to face the Dark Lord unflinchingly, whether when they were telling the truth or otherwise._

_          But as Voldemort's eyes traced his own, Snape felt his bravado slipping away faster than expected. He knew for a fact that a very treacherous 'friend' had attempted to snag Snape's coveted post as one of the higher Death Eaters for his own by telling Voldemort about his affinity for Lily Potter née Evans._

_          Actually, thought Snape bitterly, it doesn't take a fool like Johnson to see that I've been looking at her with damned fondness since our Hogwarts days. How I resented her pity towards me, and how I even wished that I were that imbecile Potter, just so that she'd look at me with something other than sympathy in those eyes of hers. Unfortunately, when she finally did, I was already too deep in the Circle to give up all that I've strived for. _

_          The curtains billowed. Voldemort strode over to the window, and, upon seeing that it was approximately a hundred foot drop from the balcony to the gravel below, gave Snape a tight smile. The atmosphere in the deserted monastery was chilly, tense, and deadly. _

_          "Master, I am deeply hurt that you should doubt my loyalty just because of falsehoods," said Snape as he bowed. It was a little trick that he had picked up from Lucius – bowing kept your eyes shielded from the Dark Lord's. And it was not unknown within the inner circles that Voldemort had a disarming capability to sense when his followers were being untruthful. _

_          Voldemort gave Johnson a scornful look, and dangled his wand lazily with his long fingers. "Oh, rest assured, Severus," he drawled. "Somebody shall pay for his treachery to his brothers…and to me."_

_          Johnson fell to his feet, and, like a man about to die, saw his entire life flashed before his petrified eyes. "Master, I swear that he-"_

_          And in the dead of the night, screams of agony could be heard resonating against the cold brick walls of St. George Monastery._

_          Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the shrieks died. Unfortunately, so had Johnson. _

***

          "NO!" screamed Snape, as he clutched his head in profound wrath and irascibility. His voice shook with terror, most unlike the scathing, sarcastic snarls that were his unofficial trademarks. The shadowy room camouflaged Snape's convoluted expression, but even if the boy before him were to light a candle, he would still be unable to decipher the reason behind the Potions Master's queer countenance. 

          They were in Snape's office, as Harry Potter, after discovering the consequences of not mastering Occlumency, was forced to continue his lessons in order to deter Voldemort from breaching his mind. Sixth year was just like any other; skeletons in dusty closets were banging on the doors, begging to be released from a lifetime of confinement. Only this time, when Harry opened the doors, he would discover that not only were there skeletons in his closet, but those creatures were sword-wielding undeads as well.

          In other words, those secrets were deadly. Which was exactly why Severus Snape worked so hard to keep them under the rug all those times. 

          Snape's chest rose and fell rapidly, as his glinting eyes surveyed Harry. The boy had succeeded in blocking his attempts to intrude, but more worrying was the fact that Harry himself had torpedoed his way into Snape's own mind. 

          And he knew what to look for. 

          "What did you see?" whispered Snape, falling into an ornately carved chair. Behind him an inferno of orange and vermilion – the colours of Gryffindor – blazed in the fireplace. It was most curious that the fire did nothing to alter the frigid temperature in the room, but at the moment, Snape could not have cared less. Snape knew what Harry saw, but he refused to admit that all secrets were finally laid bare.

          "I saw nothing."

          Harry was lying. He lied in the face of the one man who purportedly held the key that would unlock the closet.  But it wasn't something that he'd like to discuss – not when Snape was practically about to devour him.

***

          _It was the 31st of July, and Harry Potter was sifting through the mail from his schoolmates, his eyes taking in the senders' handwritings with the eagerness of a child. One letter, written in scarlet ink with handwriting so undecipherable that it bordered on cacography was promptly ignored._

_          Hermione…ah, reminding me to study for my NEWTs, as usual. Let's see, thought Harry bemusedly, she acquired Exceeds Expectations for everything, except – is this even possible? – Arithmancy? He grinned to himself. He could just imagine his friend hopping around in her own bedroom, cursing under her breath. _

_          Ron's letter consisted of the usual heartfelt rants, and a very obvious hint that he wanted Harry as his brother-in-law. Harry shook his head. The scarlet letter was lying placidly at the bottom of the heap, but he was already feeling downright drowsy._

_          Ah, well. I'll leave it for tomorrow._

_          Little did he know that 'tomorrow' was the most momentous 'tomorrow' that he had ever woken up to. _

***

          "You….saw nothing?" asked Snape in a very controlled voice. _What a liar. We both know what you saw, you sneaking abomination! How in the name of seven hells did you know what to look for? Those were suppressed memories; ones that I have tried to hard to vanquish all these years!  And today, you just walked in through the doors, repelled my attack, and-_

"No, sir." 

***

          _A very irritated hoot broke the scarred boy's slumber. Waking up to a pile of unfinished homework and a downright annoyed owl was definitely not Harry's ideal way to pass his hols. He sleepily shoved a platter of freeze-dried assorted insects into Hedwig's cage, and reached for his glasses. _

_          The letter laid on his bedside table, taunting him. Harry scowled at it. For some unknown reason, he already loathed the letter even before reading it. It was ridiculous, he told himself. How can a letter be so jeering?_

_          Fine, I'll read it. Then I'll burn it. Ha!_

***

          "I'll ask you one more time, Potter. What did you see?"

***

          _Harry wiped his nose on his sleeve, and unfolded the letter. As expected, the writing in the letter was utterly appalling, in addition to the bright red ink in which it was written in. He snorted derisively at the lack of the sender's sensibility. Who in the right frame of mind would scrawl a letter in crimson ink?_

_          He started to read._

_          Dear Harry……….Potter,_

_          Forgive me, Harry, for my reluctance to address you by your last name. There is a reason behind all this, but I cannot disclose why. You might question my choice of colours, and you are right to do so. I wrote this using Secretio Potion, a concoction invented by the archmage Merlyn Greenbeard himself to keep undeserving noses out of conspiracies. That is to say, this letter is for your eyes only.   _

_          Harry, I know that it's not my place to say this, and by doing so, I will be putting the lives of several people in danger, but I cannot, and would not keep this from you._

_          You aren't James Potter's son._

_          Simple as that. Unfortunately, I have to draw the line here. Who your father is, or was, is a question that you cannot pose to me. Sirius knew, and so did your adoptive parents. And I, Remus Lupin, do not desire to be the fourth person to bring the secret with me to my grave. Though I have sworn secrecy to the quartet – your father excluded – this is one 'contract' that I would not mind breaching. _

_          Why have I waited for sixteen long years before exposing you to your awakening? Well, it was loyalty and friendship, I suppose. We – Sirius and I – had an argument regarding this matter shortly before his death. Your genesis has always been a point of contention between the both of us, I'm afraid. And now that two Marauders are resting in their respective graves, my conscience is gnawing at me. Literally. What if I died before this letter is written? All shall be lost. Your father would be the last person to step out of the shadows. I know this for a fact._

_          Harry, seek him out. He lives, still. You might not know it, but he watches over you, in his own way, of course. Do you honestly think that the Dementor attack on The Three Broomsticks last month was an accident? Do you actually believe that it was sheer luck that kept you from frequenting that place on the day of the attack?_

_          You're smart, Harry. Open your eyes. Someone out there is risking his life for you, though he would not admit it. Someone who shares your blood. _

_          In other words, there is a man walking out there in the streets, counting the days till you would approach him, and say, "Father."_

_Yours truly,_

_Moony. _

_Ps: Happy sixteenth birthday, Harry._

_          Harry crumpled the letter in a trembling fist. Memories of the past besieged his thoughts like a very persistent battering ram. _

_          Snape was biting my head off in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place on the day of the attack! That was why Hermione and Ron were forced to leave without me……….! Don't tell me that Snape's my-_

_          Without waiting for his mind to answer, the raven-haired boy rushed to the dressing mirror, and stared bewilderedly at his reflection. That's impossible, he thought. How can I look like James Potter, and yet be the son of another? I have his hair, his features, his everything! The implausibility of it all was comforting, in a twisted way. _

_          But why would Lupin lie?_

_          For the rest of the hols, Harry teased Dudley, did his homework, and stayed out of his scowling uncle's way. He pretended that he had never read the wretched letter. He acted as though the piece of infernal parchment wasn't lying under his pillow all along. He behaved as though he did not read the letter twice daily, praying fervently that its contents would somehow morph into something less devastating. _

_          He shamelessly told himself that he was an orphan. _

_          But lies were not enough. Not when, with each passing day, his features began to resemble James' less and less. Harry had never realised that his nose was so horrifyingly hooked, or that, if left unwashed, his hair would become unhygienically greasy. _

_          But, he thought, every time he peered into the looking glass, I am James' son. Right? _

***

          "Well?" prompted Snape angrily. "There shall be no traces of impertinence in my presence. When I ask a question, I expect an answer. Potter, stop holding you tongue, and tell me what you saw!"

          Harry stared back, fury rising like a raging beast within him. _Why should you be angry? I am the one deceived! I am the one who ought to be asking questions!_

          "You want to know what I saw, _sir_?" he snapped short-temperedly. "I already told you what I saw earlier. I saw NOTHING!"

          "You liar," said the Potions Master softly. "How dare you?"

***

          _Dumbledore once told me that he'd reveal everything last year. So why did the DNA test on the strands of James Potter's hair found on the Invisibility Cloak states that I am not a descendent of the Potters? _

_          Harry chuckled bitterly. There might be magic. There might be sorcery. But all it took was science to crumble everything to dust. And tomorrow, he thought, when I board the train to Hogwarts, I shall be an orphan no longer. _

_          But how can I love a father who insists on living in the shadows? _

_          And can I even find him, in the first place?_

_          One thing that I do know is that he cannot be Severus Snape. Not the man who indirectly caused the death of my godfather. Not him. _

***

          Harry bowed. Snape's eyes were getting dangerously close to looking into his soul. "But do you know, sir, that yesterday, I came across the Mirror of Erised once again?" 

Snape stared absent-mindedly at the corpse of a salamander submerged in glutinous substance. "What about it?"

          "Yes, the mirror that shows you what you want. Five years ago, I looked into it and saw an auburn-haired woman and a tall, thin, bespectacled man whom I presumed to be my parents. There was also a knobbly-kneed old man who looked like I would in eighty years or so."

          "But yesterday, I sought the mirror out again. I desired nothing more than to see my _true _parents, and I prayed that the mirror would not let me down. And when I looked, I saw an auburn-haired woman………..and a man with a hooked nose, greasy black hair, and sallow skin."

          Snape looked up, his eyes void of any emotion. Something twinkled at the back of his left eye. Something that, for the lack of a better word, was called, 'tears'.  _How the heck did he find out? Oh, blast! _

          "In other words, I saw _you_."

***

**a/n:** Please review. How am I supposed to know what you think, if you won't tell me?


	2. The Trick Up His Sleeve

**Disclaimer:** Refer to Chapter 1, please.

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Now that the skeletons are out of the closet, they have no intention of going back. Not unless Snape has one last trick up his sleeve. The lines in **italics** indicate **past**, while **non-italics** are **present**. 

**A/N: **Yay! Thanks to everyone who took the trouble to review this thing! Okay, I'm sorry for stating that the story was complete in the chapter before (Bah. I can't believe I left out Snape's reaction! I must be getting old. =P), so here is Chapter 2, all yours to enjoy and criticise. And when you're done, please don't forget to leave your footprints, all right? Even if it's just a couple of words, I'll be delighted. 

The Trick Up His Sleeve. 

          _The problem with Death Eaters, decided Severus Snape, as he took his place in the sanctum of acolytes, lies in our murderous nature. We kill, we torment, and we hurt. But occasionally, our malevolence is directed towards one of our own. Our numbers might be increasing, but only the Inner Order knows that the Dark Lord himself has murdered more than a few of those who carried out his duties. _

_          Johnson's body was testament to that. _

_          He stood beside Lucius Malfoy, head tilted downwards as though an unseen hand was applying its pressure on it. Voldemort moved towards him soundlessly. Snape noted with morbid interest the Dark Lord's intriguing movement. He glided, he slithered and he Apparated. But one could never detect his footsteps, not even when the only sound at St. John Cemetery was the suppressed breathing of the many hooded figures. _

_          A distant Mortimus Owl hoot broke the quietude, but it only served to clench Snape's heart with fear. Trepidation manifested as he realised that the Mortimus Owl's call was an omen of death. Not many knew of the Mortimus Owl's origins, but those who were fluent in Latin knew where the owl got its name. _

_          Death. _

_          The day before, he had watched Lily take flight with Harry in her arms shortly before Voldemort's arrival. The infant that she cradled might not know it, but he had already soared through the night sky with the moon and constellations as a backdrop on a broomstick before he was even old enough to appreciate the beauty, and the stakes of it all. _

_          The infant would be exceptional. Snape just did not know that he would turn out to be exceptionally exceptional. _

_          Voldemort drew to a halt just before the raven-haired man. Snape begged his visage not to give him away. The spark of fear in him had transformed into full-fledged terror that threatened to show during unguarded moments. _

_          "Severus," hissed Voldemort quietly, "More than one of my minions have accused you of mingling with a…Mudblood." He said the word 'Mudblood' as though it was blasphemy. _

_          Snape set his jaw. _

_          "Master, I serve you and you alone. Filth and scum mean nothing to me. Not when my loyalty to the one who gave me power, acceptance and trust is for eternity."_

_          Voldemort smiled a sardonic smile that ended at his lips._

          "Then I am certain that you would not mind if I did some 'interrogation' of my own, would you, Severus?" His voice took a mocking edge. 

_          "Do you think that I am being perfidious, master?" asked Snape softly. He had mastered Occlumency, but sometimes, the Dark Lord's cunning Dark Arts had a way of breaching his defences. _

          Harry Potter stared intently at his Potions Master, seeking for signs of recognition, shame, or any indication that verified the illusion in the Mirror of Erised. 

          There was none.

          Snape's face was inscrutable, devoid of emotion. When he spoke, his voice neither faltered nor trembled, but came out in crisp, enunciated words. In other words, his appearance was the antithesis of the one that Harry was looking for. 

          "Don't flatter yourself, _Potter_," he snarled. "I see that you have your father's folly, but he, at least never took it upon himself to question his origins. How very ungracious of you."

          Harry was fully aware that Snape was looking at the inkstand on his table as he spoke. And as Lupin implied, he wasn't a halfwit. Most people would assume that Snape was merely examining the queer inscriptions on the stand, but Harry was not most people. A faint memory was aroused, as he watched Snape trace his mouth with a long, thin finger.

          _"Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency." _

          The boy glared at Snape, feeling as though he was on the set of a soap opera. Only this time, he doubted that they would ever end the whole farce with a family hug. 

          "So, how come you aren't saying it to my face? Sir?"

          _Voldemort fingered his wand lovingly. The streamlined piece of wood was a deadly weapon in his hand. "I don't," he answered. _

_          Snape breathed a sigh of relief. _

          "But some of your brothers do, Severus. And who am I to dissent the notion that you are a traitor without evidence?"

_          Silence preceded Snape's response. Then-_

          "I'm ready….master."

_          Snape awaited the cry of "Legilimens!" and as he did, he transitioned from an angst-ridden man, plagued with desires and regret, into a cold, calculating, utterly emotionless sentinel. _

_          It was his aptitude to repress that had kept him alive all along. _

           Snape shut his eyes in fury. He neither trusted himself to speak nor look. _How is it even possible that I'm able to withstand the Dark Lord's gaze, and yet I cannot answer a mere boy without the shield of Occlumency? Is it because my adroitness is waning, or can it be that I am tired, weary of this whole façade? That I want nothing more than to end the damn charade, and claim my son as my own?_

He preferred to think that he was getting old.  

"Insolence!" he shouted, glaring at Harry at last. _How long must we wait before all is over? _"How dare you dictate where I should look? Who are you to accuse me of fathering a child that never existed in the first place? And who are you, you _impostor?_ Because you cannot be Potter. That boy lacks intellectual skills, but he is never so asinine to claim that I am his father!"  

          Harry Potter's entire countenance spoke of hatred. Every pore on his body radiated abhorrence –for Severus Snape. He was confused, enraged and betrayed. Just as Snape himself had felt before he joined the Death Eaters.

          "You think that I want you to be my father?" he whispered in a barely audible voice. The sting of the words hurt Snape more than a Crutiatus Curse ever could, but he summoned the strength to retain stupendous composure. 

          "You think that I'm begging you to be my father?" continued Harry. His voice sounded as though it was merged with invisible sobs, but the boy never cried. Not in front of Snape. "I was merely retelling my encounter with the mirror, and nothing more. I know that James Potter is my father, and that itself is something worth living for."

          Snape turned his attention towards his inkstand once again. 

          "I mean," continued Harry nonchalantly. His voice took a conversational tone, and he even gave a laugh for added effect. "Who cares if my father is still alive, right?"

          _He damn well is, thought Snape darkly. _

"Who cares if I've been living all those years of my life, lamenting my orphan status, just because someone is too much of a _coward _to acknowledge his mistake, right?"

          _Nobody told you to 'lament', you foolish boy. Lamenting is for dunces. An imbecile laments, whereas a Snape never dwells in misery. At least not in public. _

          _Snape sat in his chambers, and massaged his neck tentatively. Hours of bowing had an adverse effect on his muscles. _

_          He had been lucky today. But he knew that the boy must never be linked to him, ever. The cataclysm that would ensue would be indisputably catastrophic. I have an obligation to fulfil. The boy would understand. I'm sure he would. _

          Snape took a deep breath. He never cried, crying was never in his blood. He never wailed when his parents filled his sleepless nights with vicious arguments. He never wept when the quartet of Marauders taunted him mercilessly throughout his 'golden years of youth'. He never shed a tear when his father died. 

          Crying was to Severus Snape as manners are to sailors. They did not exist in his world. Sobbing made you all the more human, and humans were fools. 

          Which was why he refused to look at Harry in the eye. 

          _It was a chilly night when the turning point of his life arrived. Snape was summoned to the Malfoy Manor, and before he could lay his hand on the knocker, the door swung open, revealing a very flushed Lucius Malfoy. _

          _"Did you hear the news? Our master is gone! GONE! Not a trace left of him, not even a footprint. He's gone!"_

_          Snape blinked. "What did you mean, gone?"_

_          Lucius's bewildered expression faltered a little, and he placed a hand on Snape's shoulder. "The Dark Lord went to the Potters to dispose of the patriarch and his son earlier. Did you not know?"_

_          Snape frowned, not comprehending. He never told me anything about killing the Potters today! Why the hell am I not informed?_

_          "Severus, is the news too-"_

_          "Never mind me," he snarled. "Lucius, was the boy killed? Their son. Was he killed?! And what about the mother? Is she-"_

_          Lucius Malfoy gave a high laugh and shook his head. Snape found it strange that his friend could laugh just hours after their master's death, but the thought was insignificant._

_          "Severus," chuckled Lucius, "my ears must be failing me. I actually thought that you asked after the boy and a Mudblood, instead of our master!"_

_          A dangerous glint in Snape's eye silenced the blond man. "I never jest," he replied coldly. _

_          A few creases appeared on Lucius' forehead. It was most uncharacteristic of Snape to fret over a child, even if he was reputed to be anomalous at times. But still….better not to take chances._

_          "The parents are apparently dead. The boy……I'm not sure what happened to the boy. But we have better things to worry about, Severus. With his departure, the Aurors will be upon us sooner than I would like."_

_          Lucius went on talking, but Snape barely heard a word. His mind was reeling, and he wanted nothing better than to seek the corpses out, and see if there was a child among them. _

_          Perhaps, he thought, if the Dark Lord is gone, I can claim Harry for my own…provided he lives, of course. Perhaps. _

          _He must never know that I am his father. Never. That boy's mind is still unable to withstand the Dark Lord's attacks, as he was so eager to prove last year. And Black, sadly, was the victim of Potter's gullibility. If it is discovered that I am Potter's father, all shall be lost. I will be killed before the next gathering, and the Order will no longer enjoy the advantage of having an insider by the Dark Lord's side. And for the last time, where the hell did Potter get his information from? From a MIRROR? _

          "What makes you so sure that you have a 'father in the shadows'?" asked Snape frigidly. "The Mirror of Erised is a very obscure object. It might have shown you a man that _resembles _me, but that is no reason for you to delude yourself into thinking that such a man exists. I shall have that mirror smashed for committing such an atrocious sin."

          "And I think that you only saw me in it because you wanted to. It is, as you said, a mirror that shows you _what you want_. You, for some unfathomable reason, seem to assume that I am your father. Therefore, the mirror only gives you an image of me because you wanted to see me in it. Illusions. Simply illusions. Never place complete trust in a magical artefact, Potter. Those are the words of a sage that your pathetic mind has yet to learn."

          _"He lives."_

_          The little snippet of information brought a surge of life through Snape's jaded soul. The man was sitting in a secluded corner at the Hog's Head Inn when a tall, raw-boned man who looked rather elderly approached him. Nevertheless, Snape knew that the older a wizard, the more scrolls he had pored over. In other words, a sorcerer's age could occasionally be used as a gauge for his prowess. _

_          Snape turned, and found himself tremor most uncharacteristically. A shiver ran through his spine as he looked into the one face that could invoke insecurity within the Dark Lord. _

_          It was Albus Dumbledore. _

          But Harry was relentless in his pursuit of his true genesis. He was ruthlessly persistent.  It was the same unyielding nature possessed by both father and son that once drew Lily Evans to James' nemesis. But Harry did not know that. 

          _And he doesn't have to know, thought Snape.  That is irrevocable. _

"Oh, really?" asked Harry with more than a tinge of rebellion in his voice. Snape eyed the boy with profound loathing, but his heart spoke otherwise. 

          "Then pray tell, _sir_, what is _this _all about?"

          Snape found himself staring at a piece of crumpled parchment, in which was written words in red. 

_          "Severus," greeted Dumbledore. Unlike Voldemort's, his smile did not end at his lips. "My dear man, how tremulous you are! Have some Firewhisky, please. It'll bring some colour back to your lips."_

_          Snape ignored his drink, and clenched his fists angrily. "He didn't inform me about tonight's attack! I was deliberately kept in the cold-"_

_          Dumbledore only sipped his Butterbeer. "Sit down, Severus. We ought to be celebrating, what with the fall of the evil sovereignty." He said it in a friendly way, but as one who was used to commands, Snape immediately recognized that that was no ordinary invitation. _

_          "Besides, we have a lot to talk about your son."_

          "PREPOSTEROUS!" shouted Snape and he threw the letter into the fire, where it was incinerated within seconds. Harry almost cried out at the lost, but he saw that Snape was already pushed to the limits of his limits. "So," he continued in a controlled voice, "Professor Lupin sent this, I see." 

          

          _"My…….son? But, how did you know?"_

_          Dumbledore leaned against his chair and wiped his half-moon glasses. "At least that was what Mrs. Potter told me. And rest assured, Severus, I know for a fact that the boy is alive. In fact, I just delivered him to his relatives an hour ago. The Dursleys. They're Mrs. Potter's closest relatives. Nice folks, in their own unique way, of course."_

_          Snape could have howled. "But I am his father! Shouldn't I be-"_

_          Dumbledore raised a hand imperiously. "No," he said firmly. "The risk is too great, and I believe that there is something that Petunia Dursley possesses that surpasses any possible protection charm that you could come up with. I do not doubt your calibre, Severus, but if you must know, Harry's owes his survival to his mother's sacrifice. And sometimes, blood magic can prove to be the strongest of them all. Especially when it is merged with Love."_

_          Snape's voice was hoarse when he spoke. "But the Dark Lord is gone. What is the point-"_

_          "Voldemort isn't gone. There is absolutely nothing that speaks of his death. He is, as his name implies, someone who 'flies from death'. Tom has simply fled, and I believe that he is bidding his time, waiting for the precise moment to seek revenge. And when he is back, I will still need you as the insider. But I will give you a choice, Severus. Would you choose to reveal yourself as Harry's father, or would you rather continue your spying duties when Voldemort returns? Pray note that acknowledging Harry as your son would spell the end of your double-crossing appointment, as your son is the one Voldemort hunts. You will still be able to serve the Order, of course."_

_          Snape shut his eyes. I want to be Harry's father, he thought. _

_          "I choose to retain my distance."_

          Harry nodded, but he continued to stare at Snape with his eyebrows arched questioningly until the man felt unnerved by the green eyes. But it was the flicker of realization across Harry's face that troubled him most. 

          "Sir," began Harry slowly, and his voice took a shrewd edge, "how was it possible that you were able to read the contents of the letter? Professor Lupin wrote that it was I alone who was accorded the privilege to read it. I'm sure that you're familiar with the Secretio Potion?"

          Snape almost bit his tongue in ire, when he realized that he had been _tricked_ _into confessing._

          "So, Professor," continued Harry in the same insinuating voice that made Snape's entire being tremble at the outrage of it all, "if you were able to see the scarlet words, then my guess is that…………Professor Lupin _meant for you to read it too_."

          "And right now, I can only think of one reason, one _plausible_ reason, why he would intend to do so."

          _It was a decision that he regretted many times over. But he knew that with the ascendant of Voldemort, his service was much more crucial than ever. But now……….._

          Snape sat down, and gestured for Harry to follow suit. "Potter," he began carefully, "if you do, indeed, have a father who is alive and walking, wouldn't that ruin everything that you've worked for? Your _deplorable Occlumency skills_ would no doubt render the both of you vulnerable to the Dark Lord. Eventually, he will find out that your father lives, and seek to kill him as well. Then you would lose a_nother_ father."

          _If things get out of hand, I shall be forced to perform a Memory Charm on him. We cannot risk of the Dark Lord knowing. _Snape surreptitiously took out his wand, and contemplated the precise moment to Obliviate the boy opposite him. 

          Harry was ready for that one. "Suppose that I do, indeed, have a father, I am sure that my theoretical father would agree with me that I have almost mastered Legilimency, as I have proven earlier."

          Snape said nothing. He only stroked his wand thoughtfully.  

          "In fact, my hypothetical father would be interested in knowing that I had even managed to breach the mind of the one wizard who could face Voldemort and lie in his face without turning a hair."

          "_Don't say the Dark Lord's name_," snapped Snape. His emotions were an assimilation of wrath, regret and fear. __

          "And to answer your earlier question, _sir_, I did not rely on the mirror alone to tell me who my father is, or was. I relied on my _'deplorable Legilimency skills.'_"

          "I owe my '_deplorable Legilimency skills'_ to my father. As you would say, I learnt from the best……….or the worst."

          There was a very pregnant pause that hung in the air like a certain vast, green glittering skull conjured by a Death Eater whose wand had just tasted blood. And the silence was just as ugly as the Dark Mark itself. 

          "So," said Snape as he struggled to keep his voice under control with Herculean effort, "I take it that by 'hypothetical father', you meant me?"

          _Please do not answer 'yes', Potter. Please don't. Or I shall be forced to perform a full-blown Memory Charm on you. A single word, and the secret that I've harboured for almost two decades will be wiped from your mind.  We both know that to gamble with fate is a fool's duty._

_          And neither of us are fools. _

          Snape directed his wand at Harry. The boy sat opposite him, looking abnormally composed with his wand left untouched in the pockets of his own robes. He knew what Snape was about to do – he had known all along that the Potions Master always had one last trick up his sleeve.  But he did not regret confronting Snape. Not the least bit. 

          _At least, Potter, for a few hours, you know who your real father is. At least, for a few months, you know that you aren't an orphan. But some things just aren't meant to be. Remus might have found a way to tell you, but in the end, his efforts will be in vain. _

_          Because at the end of the day, you are still James' son. You must be, in order to divert the Dark Lord's attention from your true origins. If he finds out, he shall have the upper hand. _

_          So don't say 'yes.' _

          Harry _Potter's _eyes met the tip of Snape's quivering wand. He felt an unexplainable serenity envelope him, most unusual for someone who was about to be hit by a spell. 

          _Harry looked into Dumbledore's light-blue eyes, and the thing he really wanted to know spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it._

_          "What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"_

_          Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, and then said, "That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."_

__

Dumbledore never failed to defend Snape whenever Harry questioned his loyalty and integrity. Once, such unswerving trust in the ex-Death Eater perplexed Harry. 

          And now, the Boy Who Lived knew why.

          _Ah, thought Harry and he looked into the eyes of his father's for the last time. _

"Yes_…………Father_."


	3. Chapter 3: The Master of Trickery

Disclaimer: We all know whom the characters belong to.

Chapter III: The Master of Trickery 

Bright skies, soaring albatrosses,

Sensations of salty seawater spray;

Digging your toes into the sand,

Knowing that beneath water lays life.

A hand quietly slipped a photograph back into the album, but not before the poem was silently read.

In contrast to the merry atmosphere propagated by the surreal picture of three grinning teenagers buried under golden sand, reality was much darker. It was dusk, approaching twilight, and the moon shyly moved her crescent smile behind a mass of gloomy clouds. A sudden urge to sprint away from his current position overtook the boy who was clutching the navy blue album, but his legs refused to move. They, like the rest of his body, were transfixed, and for a while, he half sat, half knelt on the ground by the lake.

The distant hooting of a nocturnal predator sent a jolt of electricity down his erect spine. His left hand, which had laid by his side, closed on a jagged rock, and, with a profound roar, the teenager hurled it into the still, black waters. His bleary eyes watched, half dimmed by a substance which he would not acknowledge as tears, as the rock sunk into the dark fathoms of the lake. It all happened as though he was viewing life through a kaleidoscope; there was no big picture, only thousands of miniscule, individual ones.

His mind tried its best to piece the shards together.

……

There was detention. Surely there was detention? He was, after all, given more detentions in a week than any Slytherin would have gotten in a decade and a half.

There was the usual 'Who the heck do you think you are, Potter?' talk. Harry's brow was furrowed, and thought lines creased his otherwise youthful visage, as he struggled to recall what had been said.

There was….

There was….

His chest tightened. Somewhere, someplace, his named was being called. Initially, Harry dismissed the sound waves that resonated against his eardrums as hallucinations, but as the voice was accompanied by desperate footsteps, he knew that he was not succumbing to lunacy.

Then again, lunacy would have been a kinder fate.

A huffing, flushed boy dropped to his knees before Harry, and was immediately engulfed by a sense of disgust and embarrassment. Where had he seen that scene before, where a panting human knelt before another figure?

……

"My condolences," rasped Snape, as he stood up, wand directed at the ashen-faced teenager before him. "I am deeply sorry that you are such an asinine numbskull. Had you given me a different answer………"

_Harry's eyes ran wildly, his mind already calculating the coordinates of the room, the arrangements of the furniture, and how he could use the desk to deflect the Memory Charm. At the height of desperation, Harry dropped to his knees. Perhaps, he thought, as shame crept up his cheeks, this is the best way to dive under his cursed desk._

_But shock had clearly stunned Snape. _

_"Kneeling, Potter?" he inquired softly. "Have you no pride?"_

_He could tell that Snape was disappointed. The man was obviously expecting him to put up a fight, or at least attempt to tackle the Potions Master, just as Snape himself would have done if he were in Harry's position._

_"What is pride," countered Harry, "If no one will remember this in a few minutes time?" His lips trembled, as he attempted to impersonate the appearance of a grovelling minion. The desk was so near. An inch more….._

_But he had forgotten one thing, and it was the fact that Snape himself was once a Death Eater. Between the both of them, it was clear who was more skilled in trickery._

_Forced, pretentious laughter resonated against the walls like the sickening laugh of a man doomed to embark on a journey to the land of no return._

_"Stay where you are, son."_

_Son? White hot hope ignited in Harry._

_"Father?"_

_Snape steeled his heart, and reinforced his decision with determination. It's for the best, he told himself. At least the boy would be content, even if it were for half a minute._

_"Yes?"_

_It was frightening, how a single word could fill Harry with euphoria so raw that every fibre in him actually shook. Snape had said 'yes'. It was all over. They would work together, spend countless hours devising strategies to defeat Voldemort. But what mattered was that they would work together._

_It was then, when the spell hit him like a javelin, piercing deep into his torso. It was not the spell that cut deep into his flesh, but the realisation that he had been tricked. That Snape had given him hope, but with strings attached. _

_That he would not even remember that moment._

_……….._

"Yes, Neville?" asked Harry disinterestedly. He was still trying to place his angst and consternations, though the emotions churning in him only made things all the more convoluted.

"Here," panted Neville, "this."

In his hand was a scrape of paper.

"Couldn't this have waited?" asked Harry, but it was just an empty statement. He knew, by the hurt eyes that stared back, that it couldn't.

"You told me to give you this, if you didn't return to the Common Room in two hours," sulked Neville. "Apparently, a 'matter of life and death' is turning out to be something that 'could have waited'."

Harry gave a half-smile. "Sorry."

The 'scrape of paper' broke the kaleidoscopic conundrum that had haunted him, and, after what seemed like an eternity, the jigsaw was finally completed.

Harry Potter,

If you're reading this, while feeling utterly lost, then your plan has failed. To put it short, Snape doesn't want you knowing that you're his son. Yeah, you're his son. Get over it. When you first got the letter from Lupin, which I presume to be incinerated by now, you were in denial. Then you looked in the Mirror of Erised, and it confirmed your worst nightmare. Finally, you took the last step by confronting Snape himself. But this means that he has either succeeded in convincing you that the letter was a hoax, or, that cunning bastard has administered the Memory Charm. I suspect the latter, and don't say that you didn't expect it. I know that I did. What you should do now, is lay low. Don't tell him that you know, and the only way to conceal your newfound secret is by mastering Occlumency. Be better than it than the man himself. I guess this should provide an incentive for you to start practicing. Good luck, to myself.

From,

Harry 'Prongs' Potter.

…………..

A/n: End of Chapter 3! Would you please leave me a review? Criticise it severely, if you must. If not, just tell me that you've been here!


	4. Death To Those Who Say It

**I Saw You**

**Chapter 4: Suicide.....To Those Who Speak Them**_**  
**_

_Voldemort__ arranged his facial muscles into a distorted smile. His chalk white skin was so translucent that Snape could see the fine veins that spread like a spider web under the Dark Lord's corpse-like face. He tried to imagine that blood ran through these veins, but failed. Voldemort inhaled and exhaled the air like any mortal, but the spark of intelligent lunacy that ignited his eyes was pure demon. _

_"You would not tell me? Your master?" he asked silkily. The silence that resonated against the cold brick walls surrounding them signalled the beginning of a long and deadly battle._

_"Legilimens!" shouted Voldemort, and Snape let out a howl, as the attack descended upon him like a thousand deadly icicles. His mind fortified itself, but already, the secret that he had fought to suppress for almost two decades was being unearthed at a dangerous velocity. Snape bit his tongue to curb his screams, and the other Death Eaters noted uneasily the dark, viscous liquid trickling steadily down the corner of his mouth._

_His body was suspended by hooks and chains ten feet above the dungeon ground, and the pool of blood under him had an expanding circumference. Snape's breath came in short gasps, but Voldemort's strikes were relentless. For days, Snape was hung and tortured in the nameless dungeon. It all began when his treachery was exposed. Voldemort knew that Snape kept a mortally-guarded secret with him, and the incarnated wizard didn't mind if he had to severe Snape's life strings to uncover it._

_The bricks of the fortress started to crumble. Snape prayed that he would die before the Dark Lord found out where the last refuge of Harry Potter was. Harry, upon finding out that Snape was his father, entrusted his life to him by naming Snape as his Secret-Keeper. It was all foolishness and naivety that culminated in this moment, Snape thought as the last remnants of existence slipped through his broken fingers. Harry never should have found out that he had a father! His mind was still too weak, and when the Dark Lord breached his mind……_

_"No, you will not die," breathed a vicious voice that echoed with virulence and cunning. "You will heal, and then we shall start again."_

_The thorns that pierced Snape's naked skin untangled themselves from around his body, their needles still dripping with fresh blood.__ Underneath, a very short man with watery eyes sighed. _

Down in the chilly dungeons of Hogwarts, a hooked-nosed man awoke to find himself shivering and bathed in cold sweat from the aftermath of his dream.

Snape's eyes flew open, and as his vision swirled into focus, he found that he had dozed off while marking his student's papers. The protruding veins on his gnarly hands reminded him of his dream, which made another unsolicited wave of terror wash over him. He licked his lips, only to find a salty taste lingering in his mouth.

"Damn," he swore under his breath. He'd even bitten his tongue in his sleep.

But what if it wasn't a dream? As far as he knew his mastery was Potions, not omniscience. An invisible dagger penetrated his stomach, when a sudden remembrance of an unrequited memory presented itself to the man. His mother's cousin was a Seer. But Seers voiced their Prophecies out, not dream them, he thought. After all, Harry's memories were robbed from him. Voldemort couldn't have known…..

But it all seemed so real. The cold walks, the pool of scarlet blood, the hooded Death Eaters who watched his limp figure dandling in the air above them…..Snape shuddered involuntarily. He did not doubt that it his nightmare would turn into reality, if he had allowed Harry to continue knowing that his father was still alive.

Nevertheless, he jotted down his dream on the nearest piece of parchment that he could reach. It wasn't an easy task, and for a moment, only scribbles that resembled waves appeared.

-------

"Where is he?" demanded Ron as he thumbed through _Diabolical Manipulations and their Counterspells. _A glossy page, quite different from the other ones, caught his curious eye. All that was on the page was a convoluted symbol that looked like a bone helmet that looked like a bull's skull with a sword through its eye socket.

_"Nistrous Minorus Impulsio mort," _he read the antiquated text below the picture. "What a strange-"

The class gasped when the piercing shriek of a terrified Ron smashed through their chatter. A hideous bone helmet with no visor except two eye sockets had formed on Ron's head, and constricted his skull. Harry noted with shock that it was exactly like the symbol in their Defence Against Dark Arts textbook, which was glowing with malicious red. Ron screamed again, but his voice died in midair, as he was slammed against the wall by invisible talons that ripped his robes, exposing his wounded chest.

"_Finite incantatem!"_ shouted Harry, but it had absolutely no effect on Ron's invisible attacker. Hermione dug her nails into Harry's arm, and shouted above the chaos that only a trained wizard could undo the spell, which was exactly what Harry didn't want to hear at the moment.

Ron's screams grew into cries of pain and terror, when a his unseen attacker's form began to emerge from invisibility. The bull-like head and scarlet eyes that rolled madly came first, followed by a muscular human body and powerful arms which clenched a blood-stained two-handed warhammer, which it swung like a berserker as it let out a bone-chilling roar. Each time its hoofed foot stamped the ground, Harry felt a the desks tremor. Lavender Brown had already fainted with shock, before someone shouted the creature's name.

It 's a minotaur, thought Harry. He had seen their drawings in many books, although nothing could compare with the strength and bloodlust in this beast's eyes. Several students pointed their wands at the minotaur and shouted, "_Expelliarmus!" _but it nothing seemed to work against it. Worse, the minotaur had spotted Ron, and was advancing towards him. It was strange, thought Harry, the way it ignored the others.

_Why didn't anyone get the new teacher? _His sneakers skidded on the floor as he ran out of the classroom, and into the wizard who was about to enter.

"_Dissendio_," said the newcomer, just as the hammer swung by two muscular arms was about to meet Ron's limp, frozen body. It halted so fast that the sickening sound of metal cutting through air could still be heard, even after it was frozen in midstrike. With an exasperated sound of a failed hunter, the minotaur's body faded into nothingness. Even as it died away, Harry could see that it hungered for Ron's death. It shocked him. What had his friend done to that beast?

"Well," commented Remus Lupin with a half-smile, "I can see that you still have an aptitude for trouble, Ron."

The Sixth Year Gryffindors let out a cheer, and even Lavender Brown took her eyes off the flamboyantly-dressed blonde wizard gracing the latest Witch's Weekly long enough to clap her hands. Dean Thomas set off a couple of Instant Suns, which exploded with an eardrum-shattering bang into thousands of miniscule orbs which soon formed a magnificent replica of the galaxy. The diminutive planets and constellations then floated above Lupin, and ended the spectacle by raining comets and meteorites on him.

"The Weasley Twins'?" asked Lupin cheerfully, as he basked in adulatory glory. Dean nodded proudly. "It was worth every sickle," he grinned. "I saved these for a special occasion. Welcome back, Professor!"

"Yeah," chorused the class—Ron's voice was still faint, though. His temples bore the bruises where the helmet had tightened its iron grip on his head.

"Before I send you off to Madam Pomfrey," said Lupin, and his voice took on a harder note, "There is something that you must know. Never speak the words of a spell freely—some spells are disguised as harmless captions to deceive the gullible."

Ron harrumphed indignantly, at being branded as the gullible sixteen-year-old that he had proven himself to be.

"It's a Concealed Curse, Professor," offered Hermione, although her face was still pale from the aftermath of the minotaur's attack. "It is used to trick others to call for their own death."

Ron spared Hermione a half-smile. "Precisely."

"This one was, fortunately, one of the lesser Concealed Curses that was designed purely for educational purposes, and that was why I could lift it. It summons a minotaur, which would not rest until it has killed its summoner. But some, like the _Astraqah__ Poisendio Mort_, otherwise known as Death by Venom, would do much more than reduce you to a pulp of redness on the floor."

"You ought to recognize a Concealed Curse immediately, and it is fairly easy to, as most of them end with 'Mort', which means 'Death'. A Concealed Curse will only function accordingly if its speaker knows what its corresponding symbol looks like. I survive, of course, due to the fact that I have never laid eyes on the _Astraqah__ Poisendio Mort._ Another crucial fact to bear in mind is that they all bring suicide……to those who speak them."

_Suicide…to those who speak them, _repeated Harry mentally. As he listened to Ron's complaints on their way to Madam Pomfrey, Harry's mind was alleviated from the letter he had apparently written to himself. For a while, he forgot that he was Snape's son.

------

"Do you know where the Mirror of Erised is?" asked a voice that was redolent of poison, just as Lupin turned to see who had blasted the door of his office open. "Because I would like nothing better than to see the interfering werewolf who intruded my affairs, slain!"

"Greetings, Severus," replied Lupin smoothly, but he saw that his colleague's temper was not to be trifled with. "Careful with that plexiglass sphere over there—it contains some very valuable-"

"I don't give a damn about Nymph blood! Not when Potter's actions would bring bloodshed—and not just mine!" shouted Snape, his voice ringing with iron. "And he told me that you wrote him a letter," he continued more calmly, but his voice lost none of its deadliness.

"He told you?" asked Lupin delightedly. "I knew that he was bright! So he figured out-"

"That I am his father, yes," interrupted Snape brusquely. His black robes fell about him in creases; he didn't even bother to charm them with a Creasecounter Charm. "And who the hell are you to decide if he should know?"

Lupin faced all this with the calmness of one who had seen many painful nights of feral transformation. Snape had the appearance of one who needed no consent to murder him, and but Lupin felt no tremor. Lily Evans, after all, would never take up with a ruthless murderer.

_"Remus, you know how James is so excited about my baby….how everyone are wondering if it would take after him or me?" asked the red-headed woman anxiously. Her eyes avoided Lupin's, and even if he managed to catch her eye, she dropped her gaze almost immediately._

_"I'm sure it'll look like you," he reassured her with a smile. It seemed odd that she should come to him without her husband—normally, it was James who had to drag her to meet his friends. "Fate would never be so cruel, to give the baby his looks."_

_Lily laughed uneasily. "I hope he looks like the both of us," she said suddenly. Again, there seemed to be something wrong with her words. _

_"Of course," said Lupin slowly. "Why wouldn't it look like the both of you?"_

_She swallowed nervously. "This isn't a social call," she confessed. "I…We, James and I, need your aid."_

"You would never tell him," answered Lupin simply. "Not even if Voldemort were to kill him tomorrow. You'd rather if he died as an ignorant orphan."

"You have no idea how much trouble that you've unleashed. And I went through equally much to put it right."

"Put what right?"

_"The baby is not his," concluded Lupin, stunned. "Of all things-"_

_"I know." Her voice was void of emotion, and Lupin was surprised that no traces of remorse tinged her expression. "And so does James."_

_Lupin__ wanted to grab her by the shoulders and demand that she break out into her usual cheeky smile and say, "April's Fool! Got you, as usual!" but he did not. For the first time, he looked at her with a gaze slightly more scrutinizing that she was comfortable with. She couldn't conceal the ignominy combusting in the depths of her eyes from the werewolf. He knew._

_"Of all people," he whispered softly, and shut his eyelids in escalating disbelief. "It had got to be _him_."_

Snape had closed the gap between him and Lupin with two great strides and now, he stood before the haggard-looking man with an air of virulent fury and….more anger. But Lupin noted that Snape's true hatred wasn't for Harry or him, but Snape himself. He could sense self-abhorrence gnawing mercilessly at his colleague's flesh and bone—it showed in his face.

Something was wrong. Snape lifted an arm to brush a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes, and to Lupin's shock, it was bloodied; the wound was still raw and oozing. His arm looked as though a large patch of skin was scraped roughly, exposing the flesh beneath. He shuddered with disgust or morbid fascination. The worst thing about it was that the wound was self-inflicted. It had to be. That was why Snape wasn't at the hospital wing.

Snape saw him staring at his arm, and smiled bitterly. "The Dark Mark used to reside there," he spat. "Now it's at the bottom of my fireplace, along with the skin that I ripped off."

Lupin took it all calmly. But inside, he knew that Snape had succumbed to folly. Nobody could get rid of the Dark Mark simply by ripping off their skin, he knew. It was a membership of a lifetime.

"At least I don't have to see it every single day," continued Snape with the same mocking tone. "I feel it, that is indisputable, but the visual reminder is gone."

"Severus," said Lupin in a tone that Hagrid usually adopted with beasts that would sink its talons into your throat at the slightest scent of an opportunity. "What did you 'put right'?

* * *

Please review! I'm looking for a beta for this story. If you're willing to help me, please tell me in your review….I'd be eternally grateful. 


	5. His True Father

**His True Father**

_Picture a boy, sitting under the stars,_

_Staring at nothing in particular through his glasses;_

_Visualize a solitary figure enveloped in darkness,_

_His face wetted not by the pearls of heaven, but by tears_.

The sky was a living picture of Van Gogh's Starry Night; the balls of inferno that made up the constellations burned fiercely as they always had since time immemorial, oblivious to the fact that millions of miles away, a boy was wiping his face on his sleeve.

Harry Potter flicked a pebble into the lake, and watched with bleary eyes as the rock made a little splash. He observed the perimeters of the waves expand steadily from the nucleus. Eventually, the rock sunk into the unfathomable depths, and all was calm again.

A forced bitter laughter escaped from his lips. In a way, the transient scenario reminded him of his godfather, Sirius Black. The man had started out with a splash, made waves in his life, only to fade away into oblivion.

The tip of Harry's wand sparked, striking a contrast against the darkness.

_The number of fools is infinite. It was my fault that he died… even though nobody implied it, I know that Sirius was a victim of my gullibility._

He had always been able to perform wandless magic.

_It wasn't his time. _

Harry's wand was directed at a dangerous angle towards himself. He tried to find a reason to continue the battle against Voldemort, but failed.

_Even my own father refuses to acknowledge my existence._

Harry shut his eyes, and looked into the darkness within. He imagined Sirius laughing, as he extended a hand towards Harry. He visualized his parents smiling at him, beckoning for him to follow them into a world where there were no fights, no conspiracies. Where he could be an unassuming teenager with a regular life.

_Avada__ Kedavra._

A world where Sirius was still alive.

_Avada__ Kedavra._

Where Snape wasn't his father.

He smiled a little. A resigned smile.

_I come._

As he parted his lips to mouth the words of the deadliest curse ever, a blow landed on his cheek. His eyes stung with pain, and he squinted to see the trespasser who had intruded his most private of moments.

He saw a man in billowing black robes and greasy ebony hair.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and hollered profoundly into the night. A cool breeze caressed his cheek where Snape had struck him.

As Snape watched Harry wiped his face on his damp sleeve, his hatred for the Dark Lord grew. The war hadn't even begun, but it had already torn so many people apart. But when Harry turned to face the man with the broken smile, Snape saw the faint flicker of recognition in his son's eyes. There was anger, disappointment and loathing, but there was hope as well. It was just a spark, but Snape saw it.

"Your father would have been disappointed to see you giving up so easily," said Snape finally, though his expression was impassive. He was glad that the darkness camouflaged the emotions that would otherwise have been written on his face. A pregnant pause hung in the air. Then-

"I wouldn't know. He is dead."

"No he isn't," said Snape quietly, and this time, he held Harry's gaze. The boy stared back, wondering if it would finally be over. If they could just go back to Hogwarts, and forget that this had ever happened.

"He isn't?" echoed Harry with a tinge of insolence. _Go on_, he thought, _give me the performance of your lifetime. Tell me that he isn't dead, that he's watching me from Heaven, and we'll go on pretending to live in ignorance. _

"No….Potter." The older man appeared to be fighting a battle within himself. Harry stood transfixed to his spot, awaiting Snape's lies.

"Damn it!" he shouted finally. "Do you honestly think that I'm that stupid?!" Harry knew that he was shouting at a teacher, but he didn't care. At that moment, he wouldn't have turned a hair if Voldemort himself appeared. "I've been practising Occlumency for months—heck, I breached _your _defences! I saw _you_ in that damn mirror. You! You think the mirror only shows what I want? It doesn't! It shows what I _didn't_ want, but at least it was the truth! Unlike everything that I was taught to believe, it was the truth!"

He was crying now. He knew that Snape would obliviate him again, and this time, there wasn't any backup plan to save him. He wasn't crying because Snape refused to admit him as his son, but because after that night, he would be robbed of his memories. And his memories were part of who he was. The future seemed so bleak; nothing seemed right. One day, he would become the champion of the world, but on the same day, he would have to commit murder. Either that, or he would be dead himself.

_Just once_, he thought, _I'd like something to go my way. Just once. But I know it wouldn't happen. Not in this lifetime._

That was why he failed to notice that Snape had laid a hand on his shoulder. He dared not hope that it was Snape, whose eyes sparkled in the dark. He dared not believe that the man, who had, up until then, been the source of misery in his life, was the one pulling him into a fierce hug as they stood with their shoulders shaking.

He dared not believe that Snape had said the words, "I'm sorry….son."

_Picture a boy, his smile synonymous with hope,_

_Walking back towards the castle;_

_Visualize him walking with a hand around his shoulders,_

_The hand of his true father._

_

* * *

A very big THANK YOU to everyone who have reviewed this humble story... And to those who are planning to submit a review.  
_

**THE END**


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